


A Savage Poetry

by Smutnug



Series: Chasing Eve [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Amnesia, Explicit Language, F/M, Masturbation, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-12 08:45:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11158335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smutnug/pseuds/Smutnug
Summary: Eve doesn't remember what happened at the Conclave. Or anything at all, really...





	1. Chapter 1

_Qunari_. All she really knew was that they were supposed to be large, and horned. She hadn't expected this...this wall, really, of silver muscle. The greataxe swung with the ease of a child's toy, a glint of triumph in his single eye as he cleaved through metal plate and human flesh. The chaos of battle flowed around him like the ocean and the driving rain glistened on his bare skin. There was a savage poetry to his movements, a tightly controlled power that turned the carnage into a thing of beauty.

“Oi.” Sera nudged her. “Stare later, help now.”

Her mind snapped back to the drawn daggers in her hands, the Vint charging towards them with his sword held high. Too high, and she ducked under his arm and opened his throat wide.

The whirl of blades, the lightning crack of magic and the hiss of arrows, blood soaking into the wet sand. When the battle was done she found the Qunari’s gaze on her, the quirk of a smile on his scarred face. It wasn’t the rain that made her shiver.

 

* * *

 

Shackled. Her legs were beginning to cramp under her and the cold stone was unforgiving beneath her knees. As she stared at the palm of her hand it happened again, a sharp green flare of energy that sent a burning pain up her arm.

Everything screamed of danger. The swords pointed at her, the two women, one silent and watchful, the other pacing like an angry beast, an unspoken threat in her movements.

Then unspoken no longer.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” A naked blade hung at her hip, and no doubt she was capable of swinging it if the need arose. “The conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

Conclave. Should it mean something? It seemed wisest to remain silent. Her wrist was seized roughly. “Explain this.” As if on cue, the mark flared again.

“I...can’t.” The voice sounded strange in her ears. If they wanted her to explain it, did that mean they didn’t know what it was either?

“What do you mean, you can’t?” the woman spat.

“I don’t know what that is or how it got there.”

“You’re lying!” She flinched, but the blow didn’t come. Not yet, anyway.

“We need her, Cassandra.” The other woman’s voice was gentler, almost musical.

In the knowledge she was not going to be struck down immediately, the prisoner braved speech. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

The one who was not Cassandra regarded her, not unkindly. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

“I remember running. _Things_ were chasing me. And then...a woman?” An impossibly steep climb, a hand outstretched. “But before that I don’t remember...anything. Anything at all.”

 

* * *

 

“You sure that’s a good idea, Foggy?”

“Hmm?” She dragged her eyes away from the sparring Chargers to find Varric looking up at her with a smug glint in his eye. “When did I become Foggy?”

“Just now.”

“Because of the memory thing?”

“Because of the memory thing.” Her attention had drifted back to Bull, in particular the bunching of the muscles in his broad shoulders. “If you don’t like it, I can change it. Stabby was my next choice.”

“I’m not sure I have an opinion on it, just yet.”

“No kidding. You seem a little distracted.”

“Hmm?” She dragged her focus back to the dwarf. “Sure what’s a good idea?”

He followed her line of sight. “You’re watching our Ben-Hassrath friend the way Sera looks at a pie.”

“I am not.”

“You are. I’m watching you do it.”

“Well...look at him!” He knew he was being watched, she could tell by the theatrical flex of his muscles, the wry smirk in the corner of his mouth.

“He's not my type, to be honest. And he's a spy. A _Qunari_ spy.”

Eve shrugged. “He's not going to get much out of me, is he? I don't know anything.”

“You know plenty,” Varric said. “But it's the Qunari thing that bothers me more.”

“Mmm. The size is intimidating, I'll admit.”

“There's more to being Qunari than size, Foggy. It's a whole philosophy. One that doesn't tolerate difference very well.”

She had read up a little. Fine, a lot. “Does he seem like that to you?”

“Which brings us back to the whole spy thing.” Varric watched as one of the Chargers rammed into Bull's shield. The Qunari didn't move an inch. “Just...be careful.”

 

* * *

 

She picked up the daggers without really thinking about it, and the way they fit in her hands felt...right, somehow. Comfortable. These demons were flesh and blood like any other creature, and they came apart under the bite of cold steel.

Movements came back to her as she fought - parry, thrust, evade - and the rake of sharp talons up her arm did nothing to dull the thrill of triumph she felt when all were slain and her clothes were spattered with demon blood. She may not know who she was or what the fuck was going on, but at least she wasn’t defenseless.

 

* * *

 

“So. Is it true?”

Eve sank down on the log next to Bull. “That depends. Did you hear it from Varric?”

He smiled, and it made his one eye seem warmer, somehow. “You don't remember anything.”

“Not before I woke up after the Breach, no.” It was a tale she was tired of repeating, weary of people’s reactions from horror, to pity, to outright skepticism.

“What's that like?”

“Confusing?” She could tell him that it was weeks before she could look at herself naked, finally shaking the feeling that she was invading someone else's privacy. Or that she had no idea if she was a virgin or not. Or her confusion at why some words she understood while others - pauldron, or apostate, or druffalo - had to have meaning assigned to them. “I can do _this_.” She unsheathed her daggers and twirled them in her hands.

“Flashy.”

“Yes, but why? I'd have had to learn that. It doesn't help in a fight. How did I even know I could do it, before I did it?” She studied the ornate daggers. “And as far as I can tell daggers are a rogue’s weapon. Thieves and assassins use daggers. Why does Eve Trevelyan fight like a criminal? Why was she dressed as a mercenary? Why does she know how to fight at all? Who _is_ she?”

“Easy.” She didn't notice the growing tide of panic until it ebbed away, his broad hand steady on the back of her neck. “Breathe.”

Eve took in a shaky breath, exhaled slowly before smiling at her own foolishness. “I didn't know I wasn't.”

“Good thing I was here then, or you might have forgotten.” His hand fell away and she felt a pang of loss. “Maybe those reasons are something you’re better off not remembering.”

She snorted. “Sure, until it tries to kill me.”

“I think you can take it, Boss. You have some flashy moves, after all.” A nod to her daggers. “And if it comes, whatever it is, we’ve got your back.”

Not helpless, not defenseless, and not friendless. She touched his arm, the bare skin warm and surprisingly smooth under her fingers.

“Thanks, Bull.”

“Any time, Boss.”

 

* * *

 

“We believe this is you.” Weeks in Haven, piles of correspondence sent and received, borne by crows to all corners of Thedas. Leliana handed her a scrap of parchment on which was a drawing. Rough, likely sketched in haste from a portrait. How many hopes had been raised and dashed, in the search for her identity?

“Eve Trevelyan, from Ostwick.”

“Ostwick…”

“The Free Marches.” She remembered now, a dot in the top right of the map at the juncture of green and blue.

“The hair is longer…” Not her boyish crop, but an elegant braided arrangement piled on top of her head. The girl in the picture looked younger. Barely past childhood. She must have been painted some time ago, this stranger in a high-necked dress, unsmiling. She traced her own lips with trembling fingers.

“Eve Trevelyan.”

_Who are you?_

The parchment girl gave no answer.


	2. Chapter 2

Eve wiped sweaty hands on her trouser legs, suddenly apprehensive. She noticed that Bull had to duck slightly through the doorway, his bulk obscuring the daylight for a second before he straightened, observing his new surroundings with a trained eye.

“So this is my…” she gestured.

“Nice.” At his slow smile she relaxed a little. “I guess you should get the fancy digs, being the boss and all. Half the Chargers are still sharing one big tent. I like your, um, crow.”

She moved around him to pull the door shut. “I call him Roderick,” she confessed with a shy smile. Roderick eyed them balefully from his cage.

“I can see the resemblance.” Bull wisely bypassed the chair and eased down to sit on the edge of the narrow bed, which groaned in protest under his weight. “So.” He glanced around the jumble of possessions in the room - fittingly, most of them were here when she moved in, borrowed relics of someone else's life. A portrait of a woman she didn't know - a mirror would do just as well. “How are we gonna do this?”

Eve bit her lip nervously. “Not sure. There's not much room.”

Bull stretched his legs out in front of him, and suddenly there was even less space. “Not too important. Some of the worst shit happens in close quarters.”

Thinking of it still made her gut churn. A moment’s slip, taking a mercenary fortress in the Hinterlands, and suddenly she'd found herself pinned under the bulk of a leering enemy warrior. Probably only a matter of seconds before Varric’s bolt hit him in the neck, uncomfortably close to her own, and her face was sprayed with his hot blood. But long enough to be gripped by panic, trapped and utterly helpless. She didn't want to feel that ever again.

“My fault,” Bull said now. “I'm supposed to be out front taking that crap. Let myself get distracted by the smaller guys.”

“How - “ His mouth curled in a smile. “It wasn't your fault. And it could happen again.”

“Hopefully not someone as big as me.”

“If I can fight you off, the rest should be easy.” Damn these clammy hands.

“There a reason we're not doing this out in the sparring yard?”

“Can you imagine Cullen standing back while you attack the Herald of Andraste? Or Cassandra? I'd rather not cause an incident.” Or have to explain her sheer terror at the thought of being rendered so useless in a fight to more people than was necessary.

Bull, as always, read between her words. With a nod he stood up, towering above her. “Let's see what you've got, then.” He circled behind her, wrapping one huge arm around her neck, the other around her waist.

Embarrassed as she was by her panic, she hoped he would think it was the reason behind the unnatural rhythm of her breath.

“Ready?” She nodded. “Go.” She twisted and struggled, his bulk solid and unmoving around her. There was a huff of breath against her hair as he released her and stepped back.

“That was a trick.” Eve glared up at him. “You get caught, you're going nowhere. You've gotta see it coming and evade it.”

“That's what I do already!” she protested.

“Then why are we here?” Bull smiled when her shoulders slumped. “See it coming, every time. You're good, but you weren't good enough. So, you get better.” He waited for her assent. “Again?”

This time she spun and dodged, turning to face him in a defensive stance. “Good. I'm coming at you faster this time.”

For close to an hour they wrestled, and she got to know the shifts in his muscles before he moved in this direction or that, the tension before he sprung at her. Over time the tells became more subtle and she suspected he'd been exaggerating his movements for her benefit. His last charge took her to the floor, pinned beneath his bulk.

The panic rose up and threatened to flood her. “Easy,” Bull murmured. “Unless the plan is to crush you to death - which I probably could, but most of these assholes are gonna want to finish you off with a weapon - that leaves you with space to get out.”

“I thought you said don't get trapped.” She forced herself to take deep breaths.

“That's still the best plan. But there are always exceptions.” He looked down at her, unsmiling. “Come on boss, you got this. First, don't let the panic get hold.”

He was resting on his arms. So had the bandit, she realised. Her legs were trapped underneath him, but if she moved just _so_ and twisted her shoulders _this_ _way_ , she could use his own bulk against him. He fell with a grunt and she sprang to her feet, triumphant.

Bull sat up. “That was impressive. We gotta get you quicker at that move.”

“So you'll be spending more time on top of me, then?” Eve grinned, cocky.

“Ha! You're the boss.” She offered him a hand and he managed to stand without pulling her over, wincing a little when he took the weight on his bad leg.

“Did I work you too hard?” She glanced down in concern.

“That was nothing,” he grunted. “If you can still walk tomorrow, you didn't work me hard enough.”

 _Are we flirting?_ she wondered. She wasn't entirely sure how this whole thing worked. “Back here tomorrow then?” She dusted down her jacket. “People will talk.”

“Nah,” he said, ducking through the doorway. “They'll probably just assume we're fucking.”

She watched him go with a lopsided grin.

 

In the dark of her cabin she recalled the weight of his body pinning hers to the floor, the warmth of his bare chest inches from her face. How would he have reacted, she wondered, if she had pulled his head down and kissed him, hard? Or if she had arched, ever so slowly, into his touch, pressing her heat against one of those muscled thighs?

Her hands ran down her body. Eve's body. It still felt like a small violation, like touching a stranger while they slept. Did Eve ever cup these breasts in her hands? Did she roll these stiff nipples between her fingers and pretend it was somebody's mouth, pulling on her skin? Had someone’s tongue touched this skin? Been buried between these legs?

Her hands travelled by instinct, exploring the foreign terrain that was her body. She thought of Bull's arms wrapped around her. Bull's warm hand resting on the back of her neck, calming her. How it would feel if that grip tightened, holding her still while his tongue plundered her mouth. 

He had such big fingers. And if the gossip was to be believed, the rest of him was in proportion. He'd fuck just about anything on two legs, was the rumour, so why did she have to work so hard? Perhaps he had the same misgivings as her, not sure if she was in true ownership of this body, these fingers, this cunt they were stroking faster and faster. She should stop. She should.

Was it memory that made her body tremble like this? Did it need to be taught to respond to the slide of skin on slick flesh, the brush of fingertips right _there, oh,_ was that normal?

 _They'll probably just assume we're fucking._ She should have called him back then, maybe she would have found herself pinned in a different way.

Would Eve Trevelyan, whoever she was, pine for the touch of a scarred Qunari mercenary? Would she lie in the dark and think of him with his face buried between her legs until _o_ _h, oh Maker,_ what _was_ that _?_ A sudden jolt made her back arch, tendrils of tingling sensation running through her limbs and her cunt twitching and pulsing. 

She shook and whimpered into the pillow. In her chest her heart tapped hard against her ribs, slow and irregular.

“Sorry, Eve,” she mumbled.

Eve, predictably, did not answer.


	3. Chapter 3

Varric could tell right away from the dejected slump of Eve’s shoulders as she nursed her pint at a corner table. It was a wonder she managed to drink alone. People in Haven were used to seeing her around, but if she paused too long in one spot she'd inevitably attract hangers-on.

Particularly now, fresh from the glorious rescue of Inquisition soldiers from an Avvar warlord. It was already the subject of two ballads and a particularly awful poem, none of which mentioned wet boots and the stench of rotten flesh.

He sighed. For the sake of morale he hoped she hadn't actually threatened anyone to get that table to herself.

“Foggy.” She looked up blearily as he hopped into a seat next to her. “No news, then?”

“No.” She examined the contents of her tankard. “I hoped, by the time we got back from the Fallow Mire…”

He patted her shoulder.

“The only thing I've heard from my family is that some distantly related idiots are trying to use my name for advantage. I wonder if I ever even met them.”

“Well, word is you sent assassins after them. It's not the friendliest of gestures.”

“The _rumour_ of assassins. It's an important difference.” She bit her lip. “Why even bother identifying me, if they're just going to leave me in the dark?”

“Fuck ‘em.” Sera didn't so much sit as land in the chair, two pints sloshing. “Posh nobs, who needs ‘em?”

“They _are_ her family, Buttercup.”

“Pfffft. What's family? It's what you make it.” She slid a pint in his direction. “Want this or what? Can't frigging buy a drink since we got back from shitey swamp-land.”

“They might have answers, though.” Eve drained her own pint. Sera frowned at the tankard in her hands and pushed it towards the Herald.

“You look like you need it more.” Sera shrugged. “I'll go back in a minute, they'll want to buy me ten more. Brilliant, yeah?”

“I'm sorry, Foggy.” It couldn't be easy for the kid, facing all this without the support of her family, or even really knowing who her family was. Worse, to know that they knew she was here and kept their distance.

“What's to know, yeah?” Sera squirmed in her seat. “You can handle yourself in a fight. You've got that whole Herald business going on. And you've got friends, which is better than family. Fact.”

“I can't argue with her there.” He had to admit family hadn't done much for him. Besides locking him in a vault in the Deep Roads, that is.

“Maybe I'm disgraced somehow? Disowned? What do you have to do to get disowned, in the Free Marches?”

“Hawke's mother eloped with an apostate.” 

“Do you think I eloped? With an apostate?” She latched onto the scrap of information, her eyes positively gleaming.

“I guess it's possible. You do have...exotic tastes.”

Eve pouted. “I do not.”

“You bloody do,” said Sera. “I wish someone'd look at me like that. Like I'm the last frigging pie on the rack.” Somehow another pint had materialised in her hands. “Can't say I blame you. Can you imagine their women? Just...wow.” She sighed. “You sure you're not into girls?”

“Who the fuck knows, Sera.” Eve was dejected again.

Varric watched her with sympathy. “Let's get you another drink then, Herald. Worst that can happen is you lose your memory.”

“Hilarious, Varric.” Despite herself, she grinned. “Another drink sounds like a good idea.”

 

The Herald sat at the end of the pier, staring over the frozen lake. Bull wasn't sure if he should approach. She wanted him, he knew, and he wasn't sure if that was a good idea. Thankfully she was getting better at escaping his clutches now and there were less times when he felt her pinned helplessly in his arms, his hand at her throat feeling her pulse flutter against him, his arm around her waist brushing the lower curve of her tits. In those moments it was all he could do not to strip her down and fuck her senseless. The Herald, taking it from a Qunari. And if she got her memory back, had regrets...it wasn't a pretty picture. Yet somehow his feet carried him forward.

“Boss.” He eased down next to her. It was as far from Seheron as he could imagine, here in Haven. Far from Par Vollen, too. So cold the air hurt your face, your breath came out in little puffs of fog. So cold a waterfall across the lake had frozen, the water arrested mid-fall.

“You don't have families under the Qun, right?” She swung her legs in the empty air.

“Not the way you know them, no.”

“The way I know them?” There was a brittle quality to her voice. “How do I know them, Bull?”

“Sorry, boss, I didn't…” There was nothing he wanted to do more than take her in his arms, tell her it would be alright. Fuck the pain away, if that's what she needed. Instead he kept his hands in his lap.

"What does the Qun say about people like me?" At his frown, she clarified. "People with no memories."

 _To call a thing by its name is to know its reason in the world._ When Koslun wrote that, he didn't have _Eve Trevelyan_ in mind.

“There isn't really a word for it. I mean, people can lose their purpose, go savage. But they seem to remember who they were still."

"Tal-Vashoth."

Bull chuckled, surprised. "You've been studying."

Eve smiled. "I have some catching up to do. I don't know what I used to know, so I'm just learning everything one at a time."

"Did you read about qamek? It's a poison the Tammassrans use. Wipes your memories, but also your will. Makes you a mindless labourer. _Viddath-bas_.”

“Mindless. Would that be better?" She bit her lip, fighting tears.

“Not for you, I think.” She wasn't eye-catching, not in the usual way. It wasn't her face that made her  _her_ , but the flickering intelligence behind it, the changeable weather in her eyes, the funny quirk of her lips. Memories could be lost, but the soul remained.

“Loss of the self is a source of suffering." Her eyes were fixed on the snow-capped mountains, still over-bright. She sniffled and ran a sleeve over her nose.

"That's not the whole thing." _Existence is a choice. There is no chaos in the world, only complexity. Knowledge of the complex is wisdom. From wisdom of the world comes wisdom of the self. Mastery of the self is mastery of the world. Loss of the self is the source of suffering. Suffering is a choice, and we can refuse it. It is in our power to create the world, or destroy it._ Words that had been drummed into him for as long as he had memory, strange to hear from the lips of this _bas_.

"I know. Suffering is a choice, right?" There was the smile, a sardonic twist of her lips. "I suppose that doesn't mean I chose this - more that I can choose whether or not it makes me suffer."

"Something like that, yeah."

"So I'll embrace it, I guess. Eve Trevelyan. A blank slate.” He followed her gaze. There was something soothing about the frozen surface of the lake, blue-green water locked in perfect stillness, hiding its secrets until the thaw.

Bull brushed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You're anything but that, boss.” He grinned. “You're more like one of those missives Sera’s got her hands on, all covered in scribbles and pictures of dicks.”

Eve laughed. “Thanks. I think.” Another sniff, loud and full of mucous. It was endearing, somehow. “Fucking Trevelyans. Who needs them?”

“Not you, boss.” He nudged her with his shoulder, and she nearly fell onto the ice. “Not you.”


	4. Chapter 4

“This is it, huh? One last time up the mountain.”

She liked to watch him train. At first for the obvious reasons, but since Redcliffe it was a means of reassurance. To see him as a fortress of muscle, swinging that huge axe around his head like it was nothing, was almost enough to keep at bay the picture of him thrown on the floor like a broken doll, limp and lifeless.

“I hope so.” She forced a smile. “Varric’s not the only one who hates walking uphill.”

“True. But then he also hates walking downhill. And I’m pretty sure I heard him complain the ground was too flat one time.” He swung the greataxe back into his harness and her eyes were drawn to the silvery scars on his chest and the ripple of muscle beneath them.

 _He’s uninterested, Eve, not oblivious._ Eyes on his face, although Maker knew that with that look in his eye it was no less distracting. “I still feel...like something’s coming for me. I don’t think sealing the Breach is going to make that go away.”

“Maybe this elder one?”

She scowled. “I was hoping that might mean something to someone else. Doesn’t mean shit to me, but that’s true of most things.”

“One thing at a time, Boss.” A giant hand clapped her arm. “Get up there, fix the thing, and then we can drink.”

“Sounds good.” Her grin faded. “I wish you were coming.”

Bull looked to the gathered mages, the cluster of scouts and the more battle-seasoned of the Inquisition soldiers. “Looks like you got yourself an army.”

“You are an army.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Well we still need an army down here. If something’s coming for you, it might not know where to look first.”

“That is...not comforting.”

“You got this, Boss. And when it’s done, drinks are on me.”

“Don’t let everyone hear you say that. I know Josephine doesn’t pay you _that_ well.” She returned the clap on his arm, feeling less substantial than the brush of a fly’s wings. “I’ll be back for those drinks.”

 

As he watched her leave he heard the soft clearing of a throat behind him.

“Something to say, Krem?”

His lieutenant came to stand at his side. “Just hoping you can explain something for me, Chief.”

“Even if your parents didn’t have that talk with you, I’m pretty sure you’ve been around long enough to know what goes where.”

“Very funny. But that is what I’m wondering, in a way.” Krem nodded at the departing Herald. “Why is it the only person in Haven you haven’t jumped into bed with yet is the one that’s most desperate for it?”

Bull narrowed his eye. “You underestimate two things, Krem. One, the number of people in Haven I haven’t jumped into bed with...yet. Two, the desperation of the people of Haven to jump into my bed.”

“I think that one’d give them a run for their money.” The Vint wasn’t going to be so easily put off.

“She’ll have to wait her turn like everyone else.” When he didn’t answer, Bull growled. “Look, I don’t have to explain this to you. But she’s the boss. And she’s a lady.”

“I know for a fact that second thing has never - “

“She’s got her hands full with the whole Inquisition thing.”

“She’d rather have her hands full of you.”

“She’s got no memory.”

“So give her some new ones.”

“That’s not - “ Bull reached back and pulled out his axe. “Where’s your maul? I feel like I need to hit something. Something specific.”

 

When they got back to Haven the relief was palpable. For the first time ever, the people of the Inquisition were relaxed, joyful even. Eve clutched her drink, wishing she knew how to share in their happiness.

“Hey, boss.” Bull eased down next to her.

“Hey Bull.” She managed a weak grin, her eyes sliding past his. “I guess that’s it, then.”

“I guess.” He sounded as unsure as she felt. She looked down where the mark still pulsed faintly green through her glove. It had been a vain hope, but she'd thought perhaps with the Breach sealed...but this, whatever it was, persisted.

Bull noticed the focus of her attention. “How's that thing work, anyway?”

She held it up for his inspection.”Pretty much just...point and shoot, really.” Her fingers curled, dimming the glow. “Any idiot could do it.”

“I don't think any idiot could do what you do, Boss.” His thigh pressed warm against her leg.

“Good thing I'm a special kind of idiot, then.” For a moment they grinned like just that. Perhaps what she needed to escape this mood was what she'd wanted all along, a quick tumble. Or a slow one. All hands and teeth and his body pressed against hers, warm and alive. She could take his hand right now, lead him to the wooden hut that was hers, trust that the celebrations would cover the sounds of their frantic coupling.

But her hand, Eve's hand, refused to cooperate. And after a drawn-out moment, a hand resting all too briefly on her shoulder and a murmured, “Catch you later,” he slipped away.

“So.” Dorian lowered himself into Bull’s vacated seat. “Like that, is it?”

“It's not like anything,” she said sadly.

“Ah.” His bright eyes searched her face. “But not for lack of trying?”

“Define ‘trying'.”

“So am I to assume that you haven't thrown yourself at his feet and demanded that he ravage you?” She laughed and shook her head. “Well then, what's stopping you?”

“Imagine…” Eve sighed. “Imagine you have no memory. And then it's back, and you're the person you were before, and you've been fucking the Iron Bull. How would your average noble cope with that?”

Dorian smirked. “I can't speak for the _average_ noble, but _I_ would be less dismayed than you might think.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “I meant...I mean I sort of meant you to imagine you were me. But that's good to know.”

“Are you very shocked?”

She laughed. “Hardly! Since all we know so far about my sexual proclivities is…”

“Large and savage?”

“He's not savage,” she said, affronted.

Dorian’s eyes sought out Bull, towering over an admiring cluster of serving girls. “Perhaps you are half right. He's not a savage, in the traditional sense. He's not even much like a real Qunari. But it would be wrong to think he isn't capable of savagery.”

“Savagery isn't so bad, if it's aimed in the right direction.”

“Well then, let's hope it remains that way.” Dorian took a drink and grimaced. “Dear Maker, what is this? Talk to your people, Herald.”

“They're not my people.”

“No? I think they see it rather differently.” He was beautiful. That golden skin, those dark eyes, his shining self-confidence. Next to him she felt like a drab starling next to a peacock. Gender was the least of Bull’s considerations when it came to a fuck, the whispers hinted. They would look good together, silver on gold. “That reminds me. Did you know we’re actually related?”

“What?” She blushed furiously, dragged from her reverie. “Have we met?”

“Have we…” He grasped her hands. “It's me, Eve. Dorian. Remember? Time travel? Venatori? Somebody please send help, the Herald has lost her memory again!”

“You ass.” She slapped him weakly. “I'll take that as a no.”

“We’re not first cousins or anything like that. Can you imagine? You’re a Trevelyan, however, and somewhere in the dank nethers of my family tree there was also a Trevelyan. We are talking long ago, of course.”

“Oh.” Deflated, Eve pulled her coat tighter against the cold. “You know them about as well as I do, then.”

“With friends like you and I, who needs family?”

The scarred sky swirled above them. “You’re not the first to say so.”

“Where will you go now, then?” Dorian rested a comforting hand on her back.

“I don’t know. I suppose I’ll go - “ _Home_ died on her lips. “Somewhere warm.”

 

_People are coming to hurt you._

Why should anything be simple, when nothing up until now had been?

Yet she wasn’t the one hurt. She stopped to stare at a woman kneeling in the snow by the armoury, impaled awkwardly on a sword. A worker of Harritt’s? What was her name? She didn't know her name. She should. Somebody had to remember.

Bull tugged on her elbow. “We gotta go, boss. There's nothing you can do for her now.”

“I can remember.” She stared, unseeing.

“You will.” He guided her away from the corpse. “But to remember, you have to live.”

“They’re here because of me.”

“And we’ll fight them, like we said.”

“Not the Templars.” Eve gestured around at the bodies littering the ground. “They stayed because they thought I could save us all.”

“You’re not doing a bad job so far, boss. You blocked their advance with a single shot.”

“But - “ She choked back a scream. “We can’t fight a dragon.”

He gripped the back of her neck and forced her look up at his face. “Breathe. Now.” The cold air rushed into her lungs. “Good. Now, what are we gonna do?”

“We’re going to save every fucking person we can.” Steel ran in her veins. “And then we’re going to throw rocks at that dragon until we die.”

Bull nodded, satisfied. “It’s not the best plan I’ve ever heard, but it’s a start. Come on then.”

 

“Boss! Eve!” No answer but the swirling wind. “EVE!”

She was right behind him. Right there. And they’d run, far, certain she was with them only to find too late they had lost her, just before everything exploded.

“She’s gone, isn’t she?” Sera shouted over the wind. “Shite. Shite! Nonononononono.”

There was nothing in the valley but snow. He tried to search out at least the wreckage of the trebuchet. “There was a mine shaft. It led out towards the mountains.” He’d assessed every possible escape route on arrival, for all the good it had done them.

“Even if she made it underground, it is buried now.” Cassandra pulled at his arm. “We cannot excavate the snow. It would take hours, and another avalanche is coming.”

The ground rumbled under their feet. When it came it would fall fast and hard, and they’d already been beyond lucky to avoid the first collapse. There was no choice, not really.

_There are no tactics to make this survivable._

Yet somehow she’d bought their survival. Better make fucking use of it, then. He tore his gaze away from the packed snow and followed the Seeker towards the mountain pass.

 

 _The elder one doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald._ Maker, Eve. What did you do? _He wants to kill you. No-one else matters but he’ll crush them, kill them anyway._ And he had crushed them, killed them.

He seemed nice, that strange, pale boy. Cole. She had thought at first he’d said _I’m cold._ Suddenly this seemed hysterically funny. _I’m cold._

She was. She was so, so cold. And tired, and her feet had burned but now they didn’t burn any more, and that was worse somehow, because she couldn’t feel them and had she come this far, really, to die? A sob froze in her lungs. She couldn’t tell if she was even going in the same direction, let alone the right direction. What was direction, when all was snow? Fuck, was she even moving?

_I hate you, Eve. I fucking hate you. Why would you do this to me?_

So tired of being thrown around and dangled in the air and staggering forever forward on frozen feet, why was she still moving? Why wouldn’t Eve let her rest? Until the sky lightened and impossibly, the still warm remains of a fire were in front of her and she screamed, high and weak and wordless, screamed for anyone to hear her, friend or foe just do something, make this frozen hell stop, let her stop moving forwards even if it meant she had to die because fucking Eve wouldn’t let her rest. Then the sound of shouts and Eve sank to her knees finally, let the blackness take her.

 

He’d promised himself if by some miracle he saw her again he’d crush her boneless, take her in his arms and taste every perfect inch of her and never let her go. As always, the reality was different. She seemed like she’d been crushed plenty already. Miraculously she didn’t seem set to lose any limbs to frostbite, but what since Haven hadn’t been a miracle? Fuck, it was a miracle she was here at all. Bruised all over, chilled blue and shaking like a leaf, but alive. And if they’d been alone he wasn’t sure he could have kept himself from warming those blue lips with his own.

Soon, Eve, soon, he promised. Soon he’d warm that little body until it would never know the cold again. He’d take handfuls of that short hair and pull her mouth onto his, ride her hard until those demons disappeared from behind her eyes. For now the best he could to was to hold her hand and return her shaky smile. _I’m here, boss, I’m here. Next time we run from something I’m going to scoop you up and carry you, just to know you’re with me. Next danger you face, I’m going to be in the middle._

 

Eve was still weak and her legs trembled at inopportune times, but a manic energy drew her forwards. Solas gave nothing away but they were close now and she could feel it, it drew her on over rocks and icy ground, a tug like the moon on the tide. And when she finally crested the rise and saw it laid out before her, that ancient fortress nestled amongst the Frostback Mountains, it sang to her of _home_.


End file.
